


Motherly Love

by delawana



Series: Time to be Storytellers Weekly Prompts [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delawana/pseuds/delawana
Summary: Raynda Lavellan adapts to motherhood, with all the emotions that come with it - or don't, while Cullen bonds with his child.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Time to be Storytellers Weekly Prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518038
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Motherly Love

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Bare feet padding on cold tile, the creak of a door opening, a soft whisper, a kiss on the shoulder.

It was still night, Raynda discovered when she opened her eyes only to find that the bedroom was dark. It was quiet in the little room, the only sound coming from the gentle scratching of the tree against the window pane. She turned over uncomfortably and was surprised by the lack of warmth beside her; usually she could feel the heat from Cullen’s sleeping body rising like an aura of coziness around him. Perhaps he had had a nightmare. Rubbing at her eyes, she looked around and took a moment to adjust to seeing in the silvery moonlight filtering through the window.

Cullen wasn’t the only one missing. The empty cradle beside her sent a shiver of irrational panic down her spine. Her chest rose and fell as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady herself before resolving to get up just to assure herself that all was well. The cradle had been empty a few days before, too, but at that time the baby was safe and protected inside her. 

Slowly she pushed back the covers and rose stiffly. Getting up the past few days had been an adventure in discomfort. The creak that occurred when the door opened was loud and brash in the stillness of the little cottage. She heard the padding of her own bare feet as she made her way down the hall, but the quiet pitter-patter of flesh on wood was not the only sound. At the end of the corridor, Cullen’s voice rumbled softly, rhythmically, as though he didn’t want his lullaby to be heard by any but the one it was intended for. She saw him as she approached, sitting in the green horsehair-filled wing chair that faced away from the hall, a single lit candle beside him augmenting the faded light from the window.

She approached cautiously so as not to startle him, intentionally making her steps slightly heavier, and stood next to the chair. His singing stopped abruptly, but his smile was gentle as he looked up at her. It was one of those smiles that carried all the way to his eyes, which were just a little bit crinkled in a tired sort of expression of love for the tiny, blanketed bundle in his arms.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he whispered softly. “I had intended to allow you to rest.”

“You didn’t,” she said, brushing his hair down tenderly. “And you needn’t stop on my account - that was lovely.”

Seeing Cullen with their daughter made her feel as though someone had draped a fluffy blanket over her soul. He was enamoured with the tiny person, had been since the moment they met, and was constantly counting her little fingers and toes or running his fingers on her rounded ears. He delighted in pressing gently on her small nose, the only feature she had seemed to take from Raynda. Her eyes were blue, albeit deeper than Raynda’s, but she was told that was liable to change. It probably would, to match everything else that did not look like her.

He rose from the chair, pressing his right hand into the armrest for support as he balanced the baby with one arm, then put his free hand around her waist and pulled her close. 

“My mother used to sing that to us. I thought I had forgotten it, but I suppose one doesn’t truly forget something like that.”

_ I wouldn’t know, _ she thought, remembering the mother who had left the world as she entered it and the foster mother who did not sing to her. Was that why she felt so little emotion for the child she  _ knew _ she cared deeply for? 

“I’m glad that you sing to her.”

He pressed a light kiss on the side of her head. “I heard you singing to her the other day and took inspiration. You have a beautiful voice, I hadn’t realized.”

“Perhaps I’ll use it more often.”

“You should.”

Leaning her head into his arm, Raynda stared at the little person resting so comfortably in her father’s arms. She was almost ashamed that her first thought was that the wrinkled little thing reminded her a tiny bit of a nug - there were more than a few similarities in how squished and pink they were. Her child or not, she had to admit that the baby wasn’t the most attractive of infants. Was that a horrible thing to think about her? Didn’t good mothers think their children were beautiful? She wanted the feelings that Cullen so clearly had.

Would it have been different if her parents had raised her? Perhaps she would have been a better mother if she’d had any example at all. Maybe she was just missing some fundamental part of her being.

“It’s difficult to believe that she’s really ours and that nobody will come and ask for her back,” he said in wonderment as he continued to stare at his daughter. 

“For better or worse,” she responded with a tired chuckle. 

“It will always be better, she’s perfect, aren’t you sweetheart?” Yesterday’s hour-long fit of crying, one of so many already and likely indicative of many more to come, had evidently been erased from his memory. 

“Look at her tiny fingers,” he said as he pressed his own much larger finger against the infant’s hand. She grabbed at it reflexively, causing both of the new parents to gasp in delight. “She’s already so strong, just like her mother.”

“I don’t have the monopoly on strength in this family; might even say that her father is a tad bit brawnier than I am.”

He looked at her and laughed quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping infant. “It isn’t all physical. Our daughter is fortunate to have you for a mother, as am I to call you my wife.”

“I hope so.” She still wasn’t quite convinced. Most of the time she had no idea what she was doing; like always, really, but the stakes seemed so much higher now. 

“I know so.”

It was the soft brown eyes that convinced her to at least try to believe him. She smiled and kissed his shoulder, the slightly worn fabric of his nightshirt soft on her lips, and nestled closer. The pale light of dawn bathed the little family in a half-light as the sun began to rise, carrying with it the promise of an unwritten future.

* * *

Days later, she held her daughter in her arms and watched her smile in her sleep and realized that she felt the love she had known she had as though the emotion had always been there. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, it had crept up on her so slowly. Perhaps Cullen’s faith in her had not been misplaced after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to portray a version of early parenthood in which someone _doesn't_ feel a sudden rush of love immediately after giving birth - a perfectly normal, common reaction. It's not always a magical moment. Mothers especially have so many expectations placed upon them about how they should feel and act, but there's no one way to experience motherhood.


End file.
